


A Conversation by Any Other Name

by nonbinary_mermaid



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Was Raphael (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Were Both Raphael (Good Omens), Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), Drinking, Late Night Conversations, Long ass conversations, M/M, everyone else is mentioned but im too lazy to tag them, i read this over like twice and decided fuck it, light blasphemy, like the whole thing is conversation im sorry guys, mentions of past trauma and pain, no betas we die like men, spoilers in the tags whoops, waxing eloquently and frustratedly about God
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-22 07:58:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19663111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonbinary_mermaid/pseuds/nonbinary_mermaid
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale have a long conversation about names, how we get them, and where they come from.





	A Conversation by Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> Also known as "I can't write summaries but I can read tons of fantheories and headcannons and now I'm gonna die on this galaxy brained hill": the fic.  
> This is to all you Crowley-is-Raphael people and Aziraphale-is-Raphael people and They-Both-are-Raphael people. I love you all. 
> 
> As a note this fic is mostly to all dialogue so if that's not your speed im sorry and i forgive you. it's not much my speed either, I just can't write anything else.

The First Day of the Rest of Their Lives came and went, along with another week, then a month, then two. Life had mostly gone back to normal, just with less reports back to head offices for the occult and/or ethereal still living on Earth. More free time to laze about, run bookshops, or drinking extraordinary amounts of alcohol in the back of said bookshop. It was a Wednesday night, when most people had probably gone to bed, or at least thought about it, or looked at the clock and thought “I could be sleeping right now instead of doing whatever the hell it is that I’m doing.” Crowley was in the middle of telling Aziraphale about his latest visit over in Tadfield, where Adam had had the audacity to call refer to him and Aziraphale as ‘Uncle Crowley and Uncle Az’. 

“That’s ridiculous!”  
“I know that’s wh’ I said! Why do you get the nickname and I don’t?!”  
“Oh, I was referring to the ‘Uncle’ part.”  
“Huh? I think that’s… like… remember how we thought we’d be that kid Warlock’s godfathers?”  
“Oh yes, what a disaster that was.”  
“Yeah, yeah. I think ‘uncle’ is some’in like that but… closer?”  
“Isn’t an uncle the brother of your father?”  
“Well, brother of Satan is not something I would’ve considered myself but I guess if you need to get” Crowley made a circular motion in the air, conveying absolutely nothing. “eh, specific? I guess? Or technically correct I suppose.”  
“We’re all God’s children, and while that means humans too, I don’t particularly see myself as the brother of that Mister Young.” Aziraphale said into his glass. “A little too sharp at the edges and… round at the corners.”  
“Whas that even mean?” Neither of them could figure it out. Crowley decided some things were better left to the universe as he downed his glass. “Why d’you … get the nickname anyway? Aren’t I cool enough?”  
“Are you asking my opinion?”  
“No, no, just thinkin’ aloud is all.”  
“Could you even make a shorter name out of Crowley?”  
“I never saw the point in that, just call ‘em…. something else and it’ll stick.” Crowley raised his glass to the angel. “Angel?”  
“Uncle Crow…… Uncle Ley?” Clearly the sentiment was lost. “Owl.” Entirely gone. Poof. Crowley poured himself another glass.  
“Wellet’s turn it back on you then shall we? Az? That’s what Them went with.”  
“Erm, it works sure but it lacks any… substance…” That they could both agree on, drinking their substantial drinks.  
“Zira, Azira…”  
“Well if you’re going to call me Azira, you might as well finish the name right?”  
“B’ didn’t one’a your prophet friends call you Ezra?”  
“Oh, no, Nostradamus called me Azerafel in his dedication, I think I have the book around here somewhere.” Aziraphale started up and Crowley immediately regretted mentioning a prophet anywhere near him.  
“No, no, angel, please don’t get it out, I hate reading.”  
“Bugger oh where was it!” He could hear Aziraphale shuffling around in the back of the ‘NOT-FOR-SALE’ section (read: the back half of the store) before the sound of falling books, an “Aha!”, and the books un-falling and putting themselves back on the shelves, before Aziraphale came back.  
“You really didn’t have to go to the trouble.” Crowley muttered into his wine.  
“Yes but now it’s right here! ‘To myne olde friend Azerafel’. I do love his embellishments around the name.”  
“What were we talking about again?”  
“Names?”  
“Right, right. Tryina make a name out of your name. Where did we get to…”  
“Azira?”  
“Right! Next was… uh.. Raphy? Raphale?”

There was a pause in the air, one heart beat. Two. 

“Hm, no, I don’t think that one suits me.” Aziraphale said somewhat quickly, putting the book aside. Crowley noticed, when did the angel ever put down a book.  
“What’s the matter?”  
“Oh, nothing, just thinking…”

They sat in awkward silence for another few moments, Crowley finished off the bottle of wine and brought another over.

“Oh well, what about you?” Aziraphale finally broke the silence.  
“Wha’about me?”  
“You chose your name didn’t you?”  
“Yeah? Well, no. It was given to me”  
“Well, Crawley was, yes. But… it is still unique, at least amongst the demons I’ve met.”  
“You go down to Hell once and now you know the whole lot?”  
“No, no. But, well, indulge me for a second.”  
“Isn’t that my job?” Aziraphale shot a glance at Crowley and he snickered, forked tongue out in only the most distinguished of sneers. The angel went back to counting.  
“Hastur, Ligur… they rhyme.”  
“Have you met them? That’s like their whole game.”  
“Beelzebub… Dagon… I never did get that little one’s name, poor thing. L-“  
“Satan?”  
“Y-yes, yes well… Lucifer. And then… Crawley.”  
Crowley shifted on his side of the sofa. “So what?”  
“It’s just, very unique. A more human sounding name than any of the others. Even before you changed it.”  
“Eh, I guess.”  
“I can’t recall, wasn’t there a painter named Crowley? Nineteenth Century?”  
“Well I dunno I slept through most of it.”  
“Yes I do remember that.” Aziraphale took a long sip from his glass, the thinking face had never really gone away from his eyes. “Did… did you always have the name?”  
“Er? Um.. Well,” Crowley stammered a bit before stabilizing himself with the bottle. “No, no um… Lucifer gave me the name, when… when I woke up.”  
“Oh.”  
“Said I crawled around like seeds of doubt, good for a serpent.”  
“Well, you did do that job well enough I suppose.”  
“Yeah…” Crowley was staring off into space. “Guess I did.”

“What was your name before that?” Aziraphale asked, absentmindedly, and as soon as he said it and saw Crowley start to shift inward he instantly regretted it. “No, I’m sorry dear, it’s probably er-um, painful memories.”  
“No it’s not that, I mean,”  
“Oh?”  
“Well it was painful. Falling for eternity ‘n all that. Burns. Stings a bit when you land.”  
“Oh.”  
“But, I don’t know, I don’t really remember...”  
“Remember what?”  
“My old ... name.” Crowley took another big swig of alcohol, probably stronger than the last sip he took. Aziraphale looked at him again, eyes pained but serious. “It’s a lot of um... a blur to me.”  
“Crowley?”  
“Eyeah?” It came out a little too quickly.  
“I’m not a fool, and you’re a terrible liar.”  
“I d’know if you’re one to judge, angel.”  
“You’ve talked about you hung the stars, that one nebula!”  
“‘S’a nice one i’nt it.” Crowley was practically nursing the bottle, probably moonshine or just pure ethanol at that point.  
Aziraphale looked around more anxious, trying to think of something to prompt Crowley. He got there first.  
“Wellwha’ about you, angel? All... high an’ mighty up there. Wha’were you doin before eveything went... popsquat.”  
Az thinks for a moment, absently taking the bottle from Crowley’s hand and taking a swig (Yep, it’s basically pure ethanol with some hints of spiced rum).  
“I... I don’t really recall, mm.”  
Crowley looked at him lazily, asking for the bottle without words.  
“I um, I don’t think I was... in heaven for the big bits I ... hm. Maybe I was in the stars?”  
“Really! You too!” Crowley brightened up a bit, wincing as he tried to shrug off some of the alcohol. “They di’n’t put just anyone up there. Gabriel was up there for a bit and ‘e made probably the most... pathetic excuse of a galaxy I’ve ever seen.”  
“M87.”  
“Yesss! Hell, what an awful smudge of a thing.” The tongue slipped out lazily, Crowley didn’t seem to notice. Aziraphale did.  
“I thought it looked quite nice.” Aziraphale couldn’t help but stare as the demon went off like a firework.  
“Wellyeah sure as much as any vague blob of sstars can be huh? I mean where’s the detail! The effort! I’ss got the one little whoop! Out the side and that’s it!” He almost got up to dance out the creation process, before he remembered he had a gas tank’s worth of alcohol in him.  
“The humans rather fancy it. I think they took a picture of the center recently...”  
“Yeah’n they can see what a pisspoor job he did. No craftsmanship or nothin.”  
They laugh for a bit, reminiscing. Aziraphale was still thinking about something, but either the wine or the mood kept him from speaking up.  
“Well, didgyou make anything?”  
“Pardon?”  
Crowley waved a hand up to the ceiling. “Up’n’the starrrs”  
“Oh, em, no I don’t think so. Maybe just a few dust clouds here and there.”  
“Oh comeon, angel. You really can’t remember?”  
Az just gives him a look. Kind, but dismissive. And overall, sad.  
“Tha’s a shame, I’d love to take a’tour of our creations together.”  
“You still really want to go t’ Alpha Centauri?”  
“Mmayb’ a little.”  
“Well, I’m supposed t’be getting a package at th’ end of the week. Some first edition Dickens books.”  
“That ole bugger?”  
“Them, seems to enjoy him. Pepper stopped by twice the other day to see if I had ‘A Tale of Two Cities’.”  
“In the same day?”  
“I suspect she was looking for ‘A Christmas Carol’ and didn’t want to offend me.” Nothing could’ve prepared the ears of all major Soho residents for the unholy cackle that came from Crowley’s side of the couch.  
“Y’think ole Charlie was thinking of you when he made the ghost of Christmas past?”  
“Oh, no I thought I would have to tell the dear girl that the Ghost of Christmas Present wasn't real, or Saint Nicholas or whatever he's called." Then, dawning realization and fear found their way onto Aziraphale's face and a small "oh dear," escaped his lips. Crowley continued to laugh while Aziaphale sipped on the bottle trying to avoid eye contact. He couldn't decide which interpretation was worse. He passed the bottle back and Crowley took a swig, surprised somewhat that the contents had turned back into wine. After a long while, Crowley calmed down, enough for the dogs and car alarms to stop going off outside the windows.  
“Certainly got Death right, aesthetically.”  
“I’ll agree with you there.”  
They sat in silence for a few minutes, passing the bottle back and forth, though it always seemed to be two thirds full. Az still had that look on his face like he was thinking about something that tasted bitter. Like coffee. Or orange peel. Crowley squinted at him and shuffled forward so he was more properly about halfway onto Aziphale’s lap.  
“What’s got you all makin a face like that?”  
“Like what, em... What do you mean?”  
“All co... contemplative and whatnot.”  
“Oh eh uh. I’m just, thinking, about the stars.”  
“mm?”  
“Well-I was always told, at least after th’fact, that God, Gabriel, and Raphael hung all the stars. Uriel might’ve been there too but I can’t recall.”  
“Oh... yeah, yeah she might’ve been up for a spell.”  
“God didn’t mention anything about one of the stars falling.”  
“well, I mean the morning star did, ol’ Lucif-… ‘e led the whole thing.” Crowley was starting to curl back from Aziraphale, though he kept a hand on the demon’s leg so he didn’t go far. “probably forgot to mention it.”  
Aziraphale gave him the look. Crowley hated being on that side of the look.  
“I’m afraid that’s twice now dear that you’ve… that you’ve try to lie to me.”  
Crowley sat upright, back to his three fourths in Aziraphale’s lap position and seemingly more alert. “Angel, I know where this is going and believe me” Pause for drink. Swallow. “you’ll need to get me a lot drunker than I currently am to go there.”  
“It’s painful to remember.”  
“No! It’s not, it’s just,” Crowley tried to gesture around for some vague concept he was trying to convey. “I guess? I don’t like to thinking about it. I fell, it’s not exactly something I can not think about.”  
“Crowley” Aziraphale pulled him even closer. “You’re the first demon, probably the only one, I’ve ever known to always say ‘I didn’t fall.’ That you… that you,”  
“Sauntered vaguely downwards?”  
“Asked too many questions?”  
“Hung around the wrong people.”  
“Exactly.” Aziraphale was making eye contact now, and Crowley really wished he hadn’t put his glasses on the bar counter. “The only one to say such things. And, and, you question us too!”  
“yeah? We just mentioned that.”  
“Remember Noah? And all those people. Or, or, the Reign of Terror! Or, even Christ! Dear, you hate to see people suffering.”  
“Angel.”  
“Crowley.”  
They stared at each other for a beat. Two. Three.

“Crowley, who were you before you fell.”  
“Angel you don’t want the answer to that.”  
“Please.”  
“I’m not even sure I can say the name anymore.”  
“I doubt that’s the case.”  
“You never know with the Almighty.” Crowley put a gross finish on the name. “God can do all sorts of things to whoever they don’t like.”  
“God is… mysterious,” Aziraphale started. “And … and”  
“If you say that goddamn word, angel, I swear to whoever’s listening–“  
“Difficult.”  
That shut them both up. Aziraphale looked almost shocked with himself but, since neither of them had burst into flames, it seemed safe enough to continue. Crowley, for his money, wasn’t sure if he should be shocked in a bad way or a hot way.  
“And… frustrating. And… pointless… to try and reason with.” Nope. Definitely bad.  
“Aziraphale…”  
“And to be perfectly honest I don’t particularly care what the Almighty thinks of me, or of you, or of us.”  
“Angel, please, you’re going to get us both destroyed.” Crowley put his arms on the angel’s shoulders. Both of them were trembling.  
“Well? It hasn’t happened yet!” Aziraphale laughed at himself. “Here I am questioning the word of God and the Almighty won’t even lift a finger about it!”  
“Shush! Aziraphale I’m serious! Someone will hear if you keep shouting like that and you won’t like what comes then after.”  
Aziraphale opened his mouth to keep talking, but then let out the energy with an exhausted sigh. They sat in silence and Crowley rested his forehead against Aziraphale’s.  
“Crowley,” The angel started after a moment. “I want you to know that you can trust me, dear. I know this is a very painful memory for you but you’ve been carrying that burden for far too long. I want to help you. Like I said, I don’t care what anyone upstairs thinks, or downstairs for that matter. We showed them that… that we weren’t afraid to do what was necessary for them to leave us alone.”  
Crowley had to move back an inch. “Angel you are engaging in some pretty intense blasphemy and to be perfectly honest I don’t know whether I should be alarmed or enamored.”  
Aziraphale smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment, I suppose?”  
“Yeah.” Crowley let out of a rasp of reply before collecting his thoughts. “And well, I’m pretty sure at this point you know what the answer is.”  
“I need to hear you say it, dear.”  
“I know.”  
Deep breath. Here goes nothing.  
“Raphael. I was…” Pause for a near gag or cough from saying a word he hadn’t said in 6,000 years. “I was the Archangel Raphael, the angel of healing.”  
Before Aziraphale could say anything Crowley bent over coughing. “Satan’s sake! That was hard to say!”  
“We should sober up.”  
“Are you kidding? I want to get so drunk now that I can’t remember my new name!” He feigned protest but he was wincing as more of the alcohol left his bloodstream. He could see the same expression on Aziraphale. “And honestly, angel, there’s more to it than that, that you should stay drunk for.”  
It was Aziraphale’s turn to stammer. “What on earth to you mean by that?”  
Crowley readjusted himself so he wasn’t completely straddling Aziraphale. There was way to much here to process while he was sober and he was suddenly aware of all of it. “When I fell, Aziraphale… When I was cast out, it felt like I was being ripped in half. Like everything was on fire and I was scorched inside and out.”  
Aziraphale was quiet. Evidently, it was his turn again to process things.  
“I hated how much the Almighty planned to screw over humanity, I couldn’t stand it. All these tests of humanity’s faith. Let them be themselves and they’ll overwhelm you in every possible way! And you know as well as I do that they can be eons more evil or good than either of our respective offices.”  
“Crowley?”  
“Hold on, I’m almost finished, anyway. As I was falling, angel, I thought for a moment that I saw the other half of me still there.”  
“Crowley, no.”  
“Angel, haven’t you ever thought it weird that your name is so close to Raphael? ”  
“I… uhm.”  
“What about when you helped that old farmer in Arabia? He messed up your name right?”  
“He did, I thought he’d misheard it.”  
“Israfel, right?”  
“Yes.”  
“Aziraphale.” Crowley was giving Aziraphale a look almost equal in power to his before. He wanted so desperately to say it, but he let the tension hang in the air too long, and now they were stuck like that. The angel broke the silence.  
“How long did you know?”  
“Ehhb, um, I dunno, a while?”  
“Crowley.”  
“Almost 6,000 years, give or take.”  
“Crowley!”  
“Not when we first met!” The demon put up his hands in defense, though even he wasn’t sure from what. “There was just something, something about you I couldn’t put my finger on. Even up until recently it was still vague in my head. Nothing clicked into place until now. You’re kind in different ways than I- than Raphael would’ve been. You can’t help but heal people who are suffering. That part tracks, but like, bicycles? You wanted to help King Arthur and Shakespeare even though neither had asked. And Will told you to shut up if I recall.”  
Aziraphale laughed nervously. “If I recall you ended up helping him.  
“I regret it for a such a depressing sot like ‘Hamlet’, but my point stands!”  
“I get it.”  
“You gave away your flaming sword to Adam and Eve because you didn’t want to see them suffer when God cast them out!”  
“I get it! Crowley.” Aziraphale snapped. “I think I knew too, but… but…” He was clearly searching for words that would never come. Some things were left to the universe to figure out.  
“Best not to speculate?”  
“Oh don’t you start now, old serpent.”  
Crowley smiled, with such a cheeky grin it looked like the snake tattoo was hissing, but in that way that no one can really stay mad at for very long, especially when they had 6,000 years of history together. He reached for a new bottle of wine but Aziraphale swatted his wrist away so he could get the first swig.  
“So, the Almighty split Raphael in half when he started questioning the ultimate plan and seeding doubt. And the doubtful half fell and became you, and the … devote half stayed to become me?”  
“‘Bout sums it up.”  
“Well what do you suppose we do now, Crowley?”  
“I dunno, I didn’t think that far ahead.” Crowley shrugged.  
“Do we just, glue ourselves together and reform as Raphael then?”  
“Well I don’t think we can, love. It’s been well, a while, since he’s been around. And honestly I like the whole arrangement of having my own body.”  
“And having someone so nice to talk to.”  
“Oh shut up.” They both started laughing, passing the wine back and forth again.  
“I quite like having my own body too.”  
“It suits you quite nicely.”  
“Well thank you.” Az smiled, eyes passing between the bottle, Crowley’s eyes, his whole ensemble before muttering inaudibly “oh lord.”  
“What now?” asked Crowley, with a look on his face that said he heard him, and already knew the answer.  
“You answer me that, dear.”  
“Well okay, if I was sitting on a nice sofa in Soho twice drunk with a demon in my lap who I just discovered was my literal, metaphorical, and metaphysical other half, I’d take a moment and think something like ‘wow. how blessed am I to find someone like that who makes me feel whole.’ I think, if I was in that position, I might say something that stupid.”  
“Well, it’s not so bad once you get used to it.” Aziraphale said, leaning forward and kissing the beloved bastard in his lap.

**Author's Note:**

> every so often i come across a show or fandom that just gets me so happy and excited to be a part of that i crawl out of my dirt hole to present a fic for your reading pleasure. thank you for taking the time to read it.
> 
> some of the weird references in this fic:  
> Nicholas Joseph Crowley was 19th century portrait painter  
> The old farmer was originally gonna be Tobit from the scripture but i do not know NEARLY enough about scripture to feel confident putting that in there.  
> im not sure which scenario i find funnier: Aziraphale, and angel, having to tell the them that Santa isn't real; or Aziraphale, white-clad cherub-faced ray of sunshine that he is, was accidentally the inspiration for the ghost of christmas past.


End file.
